Prince Calinius, Second of his Name, Heir to the Mezorine Empire and Chosen of the Gods, couldn't untie his wrists. The year he'd spent apprenticed in the admiralty seemed a waste, now that he was confronted with a knot in-situ. All those hours with his fencing master hadn't done him much good, either, given that a bunch of common horse thieves had murdered his bodyguards and taken him hostage. He would make them pay for they'd done! Just...not yet, since he currently lay tied in a wagon with the rest of their plunder.
He was laboriously trying to turn over when he heard a distinct whizz followed by a wet thud. An arrow had suddenly sprouted from the eye-socket of one of the thugs on guard duty. Just as suddenly, a whirlwind of steel, fur, and copper hair spun from bandit to bandit, cutting them down. Rescue! A demon? No - a woman.
This time, Cal would not be so passive. His arms were bound, but his mouth was free. He began chanting, entreating Sulencia, goddess of justice, to give his new ally strength. His rescuer, pinned at that moment under the thieves' captain, suddenly grabbed the fiend, lifted him with a single hand, and threw him like mere driftwood into a nearby tree, breaking both it and him. Apparently, his spell had worked.
Cal was already chanting a new spell, this time for healing. He'd seen her take several nasty wounds in the skirmish. They'd need to be cleaned and sewn up properly, but for now a little magic could stem the bleeding and prevent infection. He approached the stranger with a broad grin. Strange indeed, clad in the leather and heavy furs of the wild men of the north. He'd never seen one in person. He wouldn't have expected her to be quite so beautiful.
"Well fought, fair knight! And justly dispatched! We must make haste at once to the capital. My mother the Queen will reward you handsomely for this noble deed."
Brynn brought her fist down directly onto the boy-shaman's head, knocking him unconscious. She wasn't sure if his noisy, incomprehensible chattering was another spell, but it was best not to take chances with foreign spirits. Besides, it was annoying. As she straddled his body to ensure the ties on his arms and legs were secure, she indulged in stroking the smooth skin of his face. It certainly wouldn't tickle and chafe the way a man's beard would. Perhaps the women of this country were on to something. As an afterthought, she pulled the strip of cloth holding back her hair from her head and knotted it firmly across his mouth.
The shieldmaiden took her time picking over the camp for supplies and lightweight valuables. She'd hunted them down to take back the horse they'd stolen from her, but there was no sense in leaving good plunder behind. She whistled at the haul in the cart. These were good raiders -- it was surprising they'd been so easy to kill. The boy-shaman had awoken by the time she'd finished packing her saddlebags. She stood over him, entertained by his struggles and muffled angry shouts, as she considered what to do with him.
He had dark hair -- unusually dark, for one of the river people -- and porcelain skin that had not seen nearly enough sunlight. His eyes were the blue-green of the sea. He was lean, and his age was difficult to guess, and while he was not the boy she had initially taken him for, he wasn't terribly far into manhood either.
Was it worth taking a thrall? It would be difficult keeping him docile on her own this far from familiar territory, but he didn't strike her as being terribly hard to break. He'd be valuable plunder too. That chanting of his had been damned useful in the fight, and it would be a pleasant change having something to warm her bedroll at night... oh, why not. She picked his still struggling form up and threw him over the back of her steed. She gave her new prize's haunches a squeeze and was pleasantly surprised by their firmness. If his tongue proved disappointing, he'd surely fetch a good price with the slavers. The sun was just rising as she mounted and rode off towards it. It had been a truly enriching night, and the future was bright.
~
Cal awoke with a start, feeling a sick sense of deja-vu. He was tied wrist and ankle again, but this time, he was completely naked. He looked around the tent he seemed to have been unceremoniously thrown to the floor of, shivering. That insufferable warrior woman had ignored him the whole way here, and now she'd literally stripped him of his dignity.
His ready shout of anger dissipated into air the minute she entered, replaced by a ready blush that seemed to suffuse his entire body. He'd never faced an enemy while naked and bound - it was quite disconcerting.
